Stapled
by turnedthepage
Summary: Sherlock finds a stack of papers under John's side of the bed. Slash, Johnlock. Established relationship.


**AN: As usual, sorry if it's shit.  
**

**Stapled.  
**

John walked up the stairs to the flat, excited to relax after a long day at work. He opened the door, blinking and frowning for a second at what he saw.

The place was in complete order. No file folders fanned out all over the floor. No books laying open on the tables. Everything was neat, and clean. He got a strange feeling in his gut as he moved onto the kitchen. Again, the table and counter were clear. The sink was empty. He opened the fridge, actually hoping to see a limb or at least some fingers. But, no. There were boxes of leftovers. Some jam. And milk.

"Sherlock?" John called out, not sure what he was expecting in reply.

He knew he didn't want silence, but that is what he got. Total and complete silence. He knew Sherlock could go for days without talking. Sometimes didn't even leave the bedroom. But even during those times, the flat was never quiet. Always a subtle rustle or clanging of one of his husband's many experiments. He'd come to actually enjoy the sound long before they'd even decided to be more than just flatmates, more than just friends.

So standing there, in the middle of a mess-free, noise-free flat, he didn't feel right.

"Sherlock?" he called again, walking to their bedroom. He opened the door, sighing in confusion when he saw the bed made, tidy and tight, almost professional.

A small wave of relief came over him as he heard the door to the flt open, and ran out to see Sherlock, looking frazzled and surprised.

"John." His voice was lower than usual. He stood up straighter. "I wasn't expecting you home until later."

"Things slowed down, so I thought I'd come home a bit early and spend some time with you..."

"Why?" Sherlock asked, fully entering the apartment and closing the door behind him, but not removing his coat and scarf.

This caught John off guard. "What do you mean, 'why'? Do I need a reason to want to spend time with you?"

"Of course not," Sherlock answered, gazing out the window. "I just thought you had more reason not to."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Sherlock finally looked at John, forcing himself to meet his eyes. He reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a folded bunch of papers and pushing them against John's chest. "I found these in our room this morning." He only released the papers when he saw John lift a hand to grab them. "I was actually surprised, you know. At first, anyway."

John unfolded the stapled stack of official-looking papers and looked at them, closing his eyes as guilt instantly filled his entire body. "Sherlock, this isn't-"

"Isn't what, John? It isn't a divorce filing? Because that's what it looks like. No matter how long I stared at it, no matter how hard I tried to find a picture or a hidden message, I just kept reaching the same conclusion."

John shook his head. "I didn't get these papers, Sherlock."

"Oh, you didn't?" Sherlock kept his face as calm as possible, but his voice had slightly less control. "So they just floated in the window one day, with our names and all our details already in place?"

"No, I didn't... If you would just let me explain..."

Sherlock closed his eyes. "You don't have to explain. I knew it was inevitable."

"What?" John's voice was small, confused.

"Everyone leaves in the end. I somehow let myself forget that when you asked me to marry you, but I've remembered now, so you don't have to explain anything to me, John. I've signed the papers, and I've packed all my things. I just came back here to give those to you."

"You signed them?" John quickly flipped to the back page, feeling himself go cold at the sight of Sherlock's beautiful handwriting.

"Yes. I've agreed to all your terms. Very nice of you to let me keep the eyeballs, by the way."

John rolled his eyes. "Sherlock, this is ridiculous-"

"No, what's ridiculous is that you've had those papers for two months. It's clearly dated at the top."

"Would you cut it out?" John said loudly. "I am _not_ divorcing you. I love you."

Sherlock was finally silenced by this. He'd said he didn't need an explanation, but his eyes told a different story. "Then why were those papers hidden under your side of the mattress?"

"I'll tell you if you just take your bloody coat off and sit down." He set an example by sitting on the sofa, giving an expectant look to his husband. Sherlock's body was stiff as he took a seat next to John, with more than enough space between them. He removed his coat, hanging it over his lap as he waited for John to tell him what the hell was going on. "I went to visit Harry a few months back. After we'd had the little dispute over why spoilt milk can't stay in the fridge."

The corner of Sherlock's mouth twitched slightly, but his face remained overall inexpressive.

"When we met up again a few weeks later... I didn't know she'd done it. She just... she handed me these papers, saying she'd been to her lawyer to have him draw these up for us..." He watched Sherlock turn his head, but reached out and gently touched his face, turning him back so he couldn't look away. "I didn't want them, Sherlock. I've never considered leaving you, from the moment I met you I never once thought about leaving your side. You _know_ that. I didn't even look at what the papers said before I handed them right back to her. She didn't bring it up again, but when I got home... they were in my jacket pocket and... I didn't want you to see them so I quick hid them under the mattress until I could get rid of them."

Sherlock let himself lean into John's touch. "Then why were they still there?"

"Because I forgot about them. I mean it, I never thought about leaving you. I just... once the papers were out of my sight, it was like they'd never existed. I didn't want a divorce then, and I don't want one now."

"Are you sure?"

He frowned slightly before pulling Sherlock down into a sweet kiss, managing to smile into it as he felt an arm slither around his waist. "Of course I'm sure. I love you."

"For some reason."

"Don't say that, Sherlock." John pulled away from him only enough so he could look into his eyes. "All I want to know is why you were so ready to believe I didn't want you anymore."

"I'm always ready for loss. It is a fact of my life, so I am constantly prepared."

"Well I want you to unprepare yourself. You can go ahead and think whatever you want about anyone else in your life. But I don't ever want you to think that there will come a time when I don't love you. I will always love you, and I will always want you, no matter how many cartons of off milk you leave in the fridge or how many body parts you heat up in the microwave. Alright?"

"Yes."

John let out a small huff. "Good. Now," he took the papers in his hands and ripped them up, "please go unpack your things. I can't bear to see this place so clean."

Sherlock chuckled deeply before standing up, pulling John with him as he hadn't realize they'd somehow ended up holding hands. "John?" he asked, taking the man by surprise as he caught his lips in a quick kiss, "I love you too."

"I know. Now go, before I get used to having things in their proper place."


End file.
